


70/30

by jenni3penny



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: Slibbs hurt/comfort after a tough case.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 29
Kudos: 149





	70/30

Neither of them moved at first. They were both struck still and motionless. Grief had frozen them where they stood, as though it had blanketed the room in first snow. She blinked and swallowed hard, a hand pressed unconsciously to her stomach while Jimmy passed her an agonized glance across the autopsy table.

He had barely caught her eye before the older woman just to her left gave off a long keened groan, the sound so defeated and moaning that Palmer just widened his already desperate glance. He shook his head just so minutely, barely a motion as he silently pleaded with her to do something for the victim's mother.

Jack just gave him a soft nod, her left hand rising to press flat to the woman's back, the woven cardigan thick and corded heavy beneath her fingers. She felt the shudder between shoulder blades just moments before the soft sobbing started. She just nodded back toward his desk, giving him permission to guiltlessly step away from the table as her palm went spread flat.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Keller," she limply offered, keeping her voice just as low and soft as the sound of Palmer's tempered steps away from them.

The words meant nothing, not to the woman leaned over her dead daughter's body. Saying it had been reflex more than anything. Jack shut her eyes as the other woman bent forward under her hand. The words ' _my baby girl_ ' drifted by her, half choked by tears, and she instantly saw her daughter's face.

Faith looked nothing like the dead Petty Officer on the table but…

She was all Jack could see as she shut her eyes and listened to another mother cry.

***

The only reason he happened to know where she had gone was Eleanor Bishop's irrepressible urge to see her surrogate parents shoved together. She'd mentioned Jack heading for the gym twice before she herself had finally pulled a light jacket over her sweater and fidgeted in front of her desk instead of leaving.

She jerked her bag strap up higher against her shoulder, the other hand stuffed in her back pocket as she pretended to pause for some reason or other. "If you aren't gonna go down there then I can - "

"Good night, Ellie," he murmured, still squinting at his computer screen while the young blonde beamed at him from five feet away. He pretended not to lose focus on his email but the broad swath of her smile was unavoidable. Her grin took up the entire room.

"Be nice, huh?" she requested. "She hasn't had the greatest day."

"I'm aware," he nodded as he finally looked up. Gibbs watched her chew against the inside of her cheek before she gave him a lazy but genuine smile. "I said 'good night'."

"Night, Gibbs," Ellie nodded, her hand rising to cross her chest and curl on the strap of her bag as she headed for the elevator.

She hadn't been gone more than two minutes before he gave in and shoved away from his desk.

***

For the second time in one day, he silently watched her from a doorway and debated joining her. He wasn't quite sure what to do besides wait for the most appropriate moment to come along. He'd grabbed a bottle of water on the way but now it felt awkward in his hand, the condensation making him feel slippery and uncomfortable - voyeurism certainly wasn't his style.

That moment of interruption had never come in Autopsy earlier, though. He had just watched her comfort a devastated stranger ten years her senior, shoulders up and voice completely leashed, under control. He had thought better of disturbing them then, and especially once he had heard her shushed and quiet attempts at comforting their victim's mother.

Now he tipped his head and watched her take her frustrations out on the large punching bag in the corner, all her weight forward on her feet. She was very obviously alone, something he could tell by just the tank top and shorts she was wearing. She wouldn't have shown her scars to the other agents in the building, especially any that she wasn't familiar with.

"Bring your elbows in tighter," he told her, keeping his tone as conversational as possible. Her punches went thrumming deeper into the bag in answer, no response but to hit harder. Hitting harder _was_ a patented Sloane-scared-into-a-corner response. "You're broadcasting your next swing on the draw back."

One palm slapped out against the bag suddenly as she swung it away, her body half turning in his direction. She put her weight back on her heels as she stepped back and sucked down a deep breath, letting the bag swing. "You wanna jump in here, Cowboy?"

Gibbs ignored the panted bite to her tone, the sharp snap to the syllables as she turned. He moved toward her, bypassing the ellipticals as he cracked the lid on the water. "I'm just sayin' - I can see your next punch from the other side of the room."

"Y'know - "

"Drink this and breathe," he instructed, raising his voice up over her annoyance as he lifted the bottle her way. " _Drink_."

She did as told but the glare she gave him was all-over indignant. Two short burst swallows were all she allowed herself before giving him a soft glare. "I'm not telegraphing my hits. I know better."

"You are tonight."

" _Why_ are you down here?" Jack asked, lifting the bottle against her flushed throat.

"Today wasn't easy," he shrugged off, following her movements with interest.

She squinted at him slightly, head drawn back as her shoulders slacked, mouth shut in discerning silence. Gloved knuckles came up and brushed against the sweat on her cheekbone before she drew the water bottle up again, taking another strong swallow. Gibbs watched her press the condensation slick bottle against her left cheek as she exhaled.

"Ellie send you down here?"

"I sent them all home," he countered, half distracted by how beautifully flushed her skin had gone. All the rose pink in her cheeks charmed him. "Hydrate."

"Vance then?" Jack assumed.

"Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to check on you?"

She tipped her head derisively, arching one brow higher than the other. "Ninety percent of the time it's the other way around."

"Sixty," Gibbs shrugged off.

Jack just snorted and slid the bottle across the flushed skin of her forehead, turning toward her gym bag as the pressure made the plastic crackle. "Seventy/thirty."

"That's probably fair," he admitted and watched her laugh finally, the bitterness draining from her face as she blew out a breath and then smiled. He couldn't help watching her bend for her towel, eyes following familiar lines. He could map her contours all day long.

"So Ellie _did_ send you down here?" Her smile was all amusement, sweet and teasing. Her body backed up against the windows and he watched her slump onto the ledge, the heat of her back pressed against cooler glass.

"She waited to make sure I was already headed down here. That's _not_ the same thing."

That grin went even wider as she considered the younger agent, sighing audibly before continuing, "Our little fixer, isn't she?"

"We need fixing, Sloane?"

There had been just enough impatience cutting into his tone, just enough to nick the edges of his words and rough them up. It paused her, faintly drew her attention upward and suddenly she was emotionally deadpan as she went still, face blank as she met his eyes and then judged the set of his jaw. He watched it happen, followed the movement of her glance as she assessed him and evened out her breathing. Her whole body loosened as she finally settled on studying his eyes.

He wasn't sure what she'd found in the way he was looking at her but, thankfully, it had saved his skin.

"The two of us? _Mentally Unstable_ and _Emotional Granite_? Naw, we're just fine, you and I," Jack finally murmured, words slow and self-deprecating. Her smile nearly came back, almost.

"You're the most self aware woman I know."

She damn near blushed last already pink cheeks, head drawn back in slight surprise. His compliment had hit its mark dead on. "You come down here to fix me?"

"Wouldn't dare," he denied.

Her brow came up just slightly, near as telling as her smile. "Then why?"

"Been a bad day for all of us," Gibbs explained and shrugged. "Want me to take you home?"

"Mine or yours?"

He was stunned still by the boldness of her question, the direct and brazen strength of her voice. Her eyes were brighter than expected, cool amber but shined up in fluorescent lighting. She was all guts and adrenaline, no doubt encouraged by the fact that he couldn't stop looking her up and down. Couldn't keep from studying her mouth, watching her finish the bottle of water with knowing eyes and a smug air.

He nodded in the direction of the open doorway, encouraging her. "I'll make dinner."

"You spoil me, Gibbs."

***

She was cute when she was tipsy, sacked along his couch with her socked feet up against the back of it. She'd made herself more than comfortable while he'd been cooking a couple seasoned steaks, body loose and hair a blonde riot against the cushions. Their combined empty beer bottles were lined up along the coffee table's edge.

He'd only decided to cook in the fireplace again to make her laugh, to draw her out and taunting. He adored her when she was playful and it had seemed to work too. Any time she wasn't accusing him of being a Neanderthal or an over-sized Boy Scout she was blatantly staring at his ass. Granted, she was near upside down - but he could still feel her eyes on him.

She had gotten a little quiet, though, the snap of the fire the only sound in the room until she'd taken a short breath in. "Hey, Gibbs?"

"Sloane?" he asked back without fully turning his head. He prodded one of the steaks instead, heat against his knuckles. There had been a weight to her tone that had him on guard, waiting for something heavy to hit him.

She didn't disappoint.

"What's a girl gotta do to know? I mean, you're impossible to read sometimes and - "

"Know _what_?" he asked to the side, more aware of the implication than he let on.

"Did I do something wrong?"

_Christ, no,_ she generally did everything right. That was one of his life's most surprising hilarities - that a woman so finely attuned to him and his impatience should show up so long after he had sworn women off all together.

"Or are you just distancing yourself or - "

"I'm making you dinner." He shrugged after saying it, shook his head just a little, tried to level out the seriousness of the discussion.

She shifted behind him and it put his shoulders up, on guard. He rose as well, standing up as he heard her turn upwards on the couch. She was tighter to herself and smaller when he turned, sitting upright and more compact. Her arms were in, knees together, the hoodie she had pulled on from her gym bag engulfing her as she lifted brown eyes. "You make _Ducky_ dinner. _And_ Tobias. And - "

"You drunk?" he interrupted, still trying to stall the inevitable.

There was no getting away from the truth this time, not when it was so brilliantly bare in her eyes.

Maybe… maybe that was why he _did_ adore her so much.

She had only ever been beautifully, brutally, honest with him. _That_ was sexy.

"Does it matter?" She rolled her eyes at him, shook her head as she shifted again. All that adorable silliness and sweetness was gone, replaced by very obvious frustration, agitation. She was more than just nervous, she was… scared. That tweaked at him, tugged on the cord that he had somehow gotten tied up between her emotional stability and his urge to be over-protective. "I mean, no, but truly? Does that change the conversation?"

"What's the question again?" He'd known it was a mistake as soon as he had said it but he had followed through, turning a flat glance back her way.

Her socks hit the floor faster than he expected, though, four bottles caught up in her fingers as she stood. "Nevermind."

"No," he shot back, voice sharper than he'd meant as he reached out his left hand, empty palm pressing flat to her stomach to keep her from passing by him. "Sloane, _ask_ the question."

"Four wives, an ex-fiancee? Girlfriends?"

"Just ask," he seethed out, jaw almost clenched as his head tipped closer to hers.

"What's the difference? Between them and me?" It pained her to say it and he couldn't resist wanting to comfort that pain, not with her so close and warm and smelling like his soap. _That_ had been a mistake, letting her shower and layer herself in the smell of him and home. It led him closer, hips first as he tried to slow his breathing to encourage calm. "Obviously you can show a woman that you care about her. So I have to assume - "

"Why can't you just say it?" he asked, purposely quiet but pushing.

"Why did you love them and not me?"  
That was it, the inevitable gavel falling, the other shoe dropped. It had taken them near three years to jam that particular question up between them but something in him near loosened in relief.

"There it is," he whispered, half accusal and half a sigh of acceptance.

Truth. She’d cleaved the truth from his resolve.

He didn’t _not_ love her. He _couldn’t_ not love her.

"You just… I'm gonna go."

" _Jack_." Both his hands caught her and pulled her in and something in the desperation of his fingertips, the way he curled the fabric of her hoodie into his fingers, it had to have tipped her off. At least hopefully a little. Because he couldn’t let her go now, not when his silence could disastrously be misconstrued as ambivalence. "Don't ever assume that I don't care about you."

Her face went nearer a smile but it bent sullen as she angled her head and dropped her pretty eyes away from his. Her hands had rested against his arms, fingers curling on him. "But?"

But it wasn’t easy to give the safety of his solitude away...

"I've been alone a long time. _Intentionally_." He shook his head, letting honesty out. "I can't do it all at once, Sloane."

"But at some point - "

"At some point I have to start again," he finished for her, letting a smile slowly take him. A smile was what she wanted, he knew that much. She kept watching his mouth, eyes darting down to his lips from his eyes and back up and when he did finally laugh out a breath and smirk her own face went bright beautiful, entirely overcome by pleasure. "Because it's not enough without you."

" _Me_ specifically or just, ya know, your team?"

"Meant you in particular this time." His bemused nod was accentuated by the way he slowly lifted a hand and caught her chin up, leaning his lips to hers.

It was a soft first kiss, more a practice run than anything, something to keep her still and close and he felt her sigh into parting her lips. Both her hands clutched at fabric and he laughed into the kiss, enjoying how slowly she let him tease his tongue along hers. It wasn’t an end of a kiss so much as a slowly shared exhalation.

“You okay with that?” he asked against her lips, barely still conscious of the conversation as she made a moan of a sound that struck him right in the gut.

She nodded her mouth higher, lips rubbing against his cheekbone and kissing softly. “Gibbs, honey, the steaks are burning.”

“Damn it.”

He loved that she just laughed.

Nothing could have been better.


End file.
